


Thank You

by Lacertae



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Death, Deathfic, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Sadstuck, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's ok to rest now. You deserved it".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank You

**Author's Note:**

> I found myself typing this, and I'm not even sure why. I'm not one to Sadstuck, haha. Please enjoy nonetheless?

“It’s ok to rest now. You deserved it”.

There is a hand on his eyes, keeping them close. It’s soft and cool –human, unlike him– and it’s pleasant against his burning skin.

It doesn’t even hurt, really, everything is pleasantly dull and blurry, and he can barely feel his hands; the rest of his body is heavy, and he’s not even sure where he is.

If that’s how dying is, he’s kinda ok with it.

Despite that, he fights against the heaviness; his sense of duty hums in the back of his head, steeling him into at least trying to move –at least attempt to stand up. He can’t let go now.

He’s not done. They need him still. He…

“Sleep. You’ve done well. You deserve to rest now”.

The voice is warm and soft, but it’s somewhat unsure and trembles lightly.

He wants to say that _no, I can’t. I’ve not done enough, I’ve done nothing at all._

Something wet hits his cheek; it’s cold, and he wonders idly if it has started raining. It’s been a while since he’s seen rain. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go, washed away in the rain.

His eyes flutter open, but he can only see the hand covering his face, and nothing else. It’s dark and soothing.

“Everything will be fine,” the voice murmurs. He can only vaguely picture the face attached to it, and he feels like they’re trying hard to smile for him. “You don’t have to push yourself anymore”.

He’s _always_ pushed himself hard for them. That was his role, that was his duty, his call, his everything. Even afterwards, when it wasn’t really his responsibility anymore, he still did his best so nobody would die again.

He felt he’s failed for so long, he is not sure he can truly rest.

Does he deserve to just…

He closes his eyes again. He’s dizzy and weak and he feels lonely, despite the hand touching him.

Parched lips part, and he lets out a wary, shaking breath. “Can I really…?”

He barely has enough strength to ask, but he has to. He fought, he tried hard, he lived probably more than he should have, and now…

Now he just wants to rest, but it’s so hard to simply give in to temptation.

He trusts them, he trusts them so much –almost as much as he loves them– but it’s still not easy to let go.

“Yes, Dave,” the voice falters for a moment, a choked sob barely restrained by lips pressing together. “Yes, you can”.

That is it, then –the hand against his face shifts away, gently caressing his face, soft and cool and familiar, and the touch feels so good and he simply smiles, the corners of his mouth shifting upwards.

It’s blurry and painless and dark and soothing and–

And somewhere in the back of his mind, there are voices calling for him, and he recognises his friends, all of them – _his_ timeline, his doomed world that never was, those friends that are _his own_ , and no one else’s.

They are waiting for him. It’s finally time for him to go back home.

And the last words he hears before letting go, before his body disintegrates, vanishing into thin air, are as sweet and welcome as wind under his wings.

 

“Thank you”.

 


End file.
